Myrnin's Records
by Flying Penguinz
Summary: A collection of journal entries with the magical - or inexplicable - , scientific, and other odd findings from Myrnin, including the encounters Morganville residents - mostly Amelie, Myrnin, and Oliver - have had with them.


March ?, 1843

Not all clouds are really tiny droplets of water. Some are actually creatures (very similar to Sirens) in the form of fog that send out a sad, silent song to all of the dispirited people in the world and bring them to cry, or be upset, or do something completely irrational. The cloud creatures quite enjoy watching the torment of a dying soul. They send the song down to cities or forests, countries or mountains and feed on the teary magic that floats up to them. But only the most miserable with the largest burdens hear the melodious tune in dreams. Reports on the dreams are always pertaining to whatever the trouble the person is having, and they always recall feeling depressed after waking.

—Myrnin

* * *

"Amelie," the Siren said in a soft voice, reaching out her hand. "It must be very terrible loving him—Samuel. I hear his name in your head." The sounds that escaped her lips were like that of a crystal cup after having been tapped with a spoon, and just as clear.

"Who are you?" Amelie asked.

"The embodiment of your heart. I know everything that troubles you, and Samuel is the man who is trapped in the ice realm of your essence you do not wish to enter."

Amelie felt a tear roll down her cheek.

"It does not matter if you cry," she said understandingly, sitting on a bench that appeared magically. "I know what it is like to be in danger as you are now—everyone is a liability. But I know you care for him and it pains you to do so. Take my hand."

Amelie sat as well and placed her hand in the Siren's, weeping quietly. The scream she had let out when Bishop pushed Sam's head to the side and bit down on his neck echoed through her mind, sending a shiver down her spine and she tried to chase the memory away with another of her in his safe embrace.

"There, there," the Siren cooed. "A heart is a woman's purest treasure that is tainted with pain and loss—particularly yours, Amelie. One should never suffer so much. Loneliness and grief causes an unstable heart."

And the Siren sang a song—a song that Amelie would never be able to remember. It was beautiful and heartbreaking, deep and thoughtful. It seemed to twang every heartstring of Amelie's—as if the tune were meant for her specifically. Her own personal melody.

It brought back recollections of all the times Samuel had reached out to her and when she had pushed him away. Every stolen moment with him. And she remembered when he died, saving her. Perhaps if she built armor for her tender body, she would never be wounded. But it was her own fault—no one's but her own. And she hated herself for it.

* * *

Amelie woke to a pillow wet with tears, but she wouldn't be able to recall why.

* * *

"Myrnin?"

He looked up from his journal and saw the form of his deceased lover and friend on the other side of the street, the sun shining down on her and lighting her up like an angel. He stood from the steps he was sitting on and went to her. Ada often appeared in his dreams, and her presence in his imagination no longer surprised him.

"Ada?"

"Myrnin, why am I dying?"

The question confused Myrnin. "What?"

She held out her hand and observed it in wonder. Suddenly, it burst into flame and she cried out, gazing at Myrnin with a horrified look upon her face.

Myrnin caught Ada as she fell to the ground in her fright and tried his best to shelter her from the deadly light.

Then, the person in Myrnin's arms was not Ada, but a woman that seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps he'd seen her before in other dreams. But this woman's face was not contorted in misery, nor was she being burned by the sun. She looked serene and calm, lying comfortably in his hold, and Myrnin hated her for it.

"Let her go, Myrnin," she said. "You cannot continue this existence if you do not let her go."

Myrnin unwrapped his arms from this stranger in disgust and began walking away.

"Stop," the Siren said forcefully, but not enough to make Myrnin halt. She changed tactics. "No matter what tinkering you do, she'll be gone. Even if technology advances, you will not have her remains. Her brain went bad at the end, Myrnin, because of you. You fed her your bad blood."

Instead of getting angry, Myrnin felt the accusation hit him hard; he knew it was true.

He turned around, but the Siren was gone. A song began, though, and its beauty reminded Myrnin of the things he only just remembered, like a flash of something that brings back memories one had thought they'd forgotten. He recalled the way Ada wrapped her hair when she went to a formal event with him. And the way she spoke when she was tired. He remembered the sound of her shoes against the tiled floor of his lab in Germany.

And then, the image that was always somewhere in the front of his mind, Ada trapping him in the cave with holes in the floor, insane because of his blood.

"I hear your thoughts," a voice sounded through his mind as the song stopped. "And I know you're broken."

* * *

Myrnin was awoken by a scream of agony and then realized it was his own.

* * *

**Leave me a review if you like this kind of stuff and I'll see what other ideas I can come up with.**


End file.
